


interludes for the dead

by Marcia Elena (marciaelena)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Episode: s12e20 Twigs and Twine and Tasha Banes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13775610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena
Summary: Where she goes, he follows.





	interludes for the dead

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the _Seasons_ Supernatural fan fiction anthology. This story is part of the Winter section of the book, which deals with themes of cold, death, endings, loneliness, family, contemplation, despair and new hope, among others.

His dreams are tinted red. 

Crimson skies (twilight, maybe, or the end of the world) and ashes hanging in the air like silence. 

*

Waking up doesn't bring the relief he seeks. 

She's there waiting for him. She's always there. She's always waiting.

The shape of her is framed by the window, blurred by the morning glare. 

For just that instant he could pretend. For just that instant she could be anyone.

"Max," she says. The familiarity of her voice cuts through him like an icy wind. 

He wants to pretend. He wants to forget. But he knows. He knows. He knows who she is.

He knows who she _isn't_.

* 

He drives. That's all he does these days. There's no more hunting for him. There's nowhere to call home. 

He doesn't know where he's going. He doesn't know, and it doesn't matter. 

She's in the car with him. She's in the car next to him. They're in the car together but he's all alone.

"Seriously, Max, what's going on with you? You've been acting super weird lately. You barely ever talk anymore."

He shrugs. That's all he can manage.

"See what I mean? This isn't like you at all." 

She sounds worried. She sounds just like Alicia would. If he looked at her now he'd see the frown there, the wrinkle between her eyebrows that never fails to tug at him. 

"I'm fine," he says. "Okay? I promise."

"You're such a liar."

"Look," he says. And he looks at her. He looks at her and he wishes he hadn't. Because it's Alicia in the seat beside him. It's her, it's the frown lines in her face right where he knew they would be, it's everything endearing and annoying about her and it guts him, it fucking destroys him all over again. 

"Look, what? Come on, Max. You know you can tell me anything."

"No," he tells her. There are unshed tears in his eyes. "Just... no. You hear? Whatever I do, whatever I don't do, you won't worry about me anymore." 

It's not a request. She'll do what he says. 

She's his creation, after all.

*

His dreams are tainted black.

Dark clouds (a storm, maybe, or the end of the world) and mist rising from the ground like dread. 

*

She doesn't remember. She doesn't know that Tasha is dead. Doesn't know that she's dead, too.

Max knows. He remembers. 

He remembers the weight of his sister's body as he carried her in his arms. He remembers how he cut her open, remembers the crack of her rib cage, the slippery-cold texture of her heart as he ripped it out of her. The smell of her blood that lingered in his nostrils for days afterwards. The heat of the flames as he burned her and everything around her to cinders.

 _You're probably in shock right now_ , Sam had told him. _But it's gonna pass_.

It hasn't.

 _And then it's gonna hurt_ , Dean had said. 

And it does. It hurts. It _hurts_. It eats him up and he wants it to relent, he wants it to last forever. 

Alicia's gone. His sister, his best friend, his twin, the half of him. She's gone.

She's here. She laughs and it's Alicia's laughter. She tucks her hair behind her ear and it's her ear, her hair, it's her fingers and the way she moves, the way she smiles at him-- It's her. 

It isn't her. She's not in there. The thing sitting across from him at this ugly diner table has no soul. 

He swallows his coffee while it's still too hot and it scalds his tongue, spills like fire down his throat. 

He doesn't even flinch.

*

He'd thought that keeping parts of her would be better than losing all of her. He's not so sure anymore.

He can't speak her name. He thinks it, he prays it, he longs to say it but he can't, he can't. 

"Go to sleep," he tells her. He doesn't want her standing still in the corner of the room all night.

_Get in bed. Close your eyes. Believe you're human. Sleep._

He wonders what she'll dream of. He wonders if she'll dream at all.

*

His dreams are painted blue.

Heaving waters (an ocean, maybe, or the end of the world) and light hidden in the deep like love. 

*

"Max," she whispers. A fractured sound. A barely word. 

His name. Her voice. It sounds right, the way she says it. It sounds like it means something.

"I'm here," he says. The unguarded tenderness in his own tone catches him unprepared.

She reaches out for him across the space between their beds (across the gulf between the living and the dead) and he mirrors her, taking her hand in his. 

It's been months since he's touched her. She feels warm. She feels real.

"I can't feel my heartbeat," she says. 

The fear in her looms large in the dark, filling every vacancy in the room and forcing itself into him with his next breath. 

He lets go of her hand. He gets up and slips into bed with her, he wraps her in his arms. 

"I'm here," he says again. 

She relaxes against him. He stays awake the rest of the night.

He can't feel her heart beat, either. 

*

She doesn't remember her death. She only remembers her life. 

She remembers _their_ life. Max and Alicia, Alicia and Max. It's always been the two of them. 

He knows it won't ever be the two of them again. 

His sister's lost to him. Everything they shared, everything they were, it's all just a (ghost) story now. 

Because he's here. And _she_ 's here. 

So he allows her the lie. He allows himself the pain of it.

She smiles at him and he takes it. He looks at her and sees the darkness in him reflected in her luminous eyes.

She doesn't remember. She doesn't know. But he does.

He knows.

He's just as dead as she is.

***


End file.
